


Tell Me Secrets Only Trouble Knows

by echoist



Series: Show Me Where Trouble Goes [2]
Category: The Following
Genre: AU, Angst, Dogs, Headcanon, M/M, Pre-Series, townhouse of lies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:56:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoist/pseuds/echoist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>You don't have to drag me down, I descend.</i>  -Shawn Colvin, Trouble</p><p>What if it didn't happen that way at all? Sometimes the smallest of things have the greatest effect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me Secrets Only Trouble Knows

Or maybe, it doesn't happen that way at all.

It's a cold November night when Jacob sees the dog on the side of the road. It's raining, just one swift dip in temperature short of ice, and snow soon to follow swiftly on its heels. He knows what Paul will say, but an argument rises up in his chest, hot and angry, and he makes the call for himself. He pulls over, windshield wipers throwing buckets of rain from side to side while he hesitantly gets out of the car. It's dark early this time of year and he can't even tell what sort of dog it might be through the swaying brush. He finds a small snack bar in the glove box and kneels by the car, offering it out in welcome.

The dog hesitates, every line in its body ready to take flight at the slightest provocation, but he's patient, rain dripping down his face and soaking his hoodie. Gradually, ever so slowly, the dog approaches one step at a time. They're face to face when the dog takes the tiny morsel of fruit and granola from his hands, backing away to devour it as if it hadn't eaten in days. It's not wearing a collar, shaggy fur matted and soaked from exposure to the elements. He holds out another handful, and the dog approaches more easily this time, allowing Jacob the chance to gently stroke its head while it eats from his palm.

It looks up at him, a plaintive whimpering from deep in its throat, and Jacob feeds the rest of the bar to it slowly, cautiously, until the dog lets him rub its back and scratch behind its ears. Paul's voice echoes in his ears,  _We can't get a dog, you know that,_  but what else is he supposed to do? He can't leave it out in the rain. The forecast was calling for snow, mounds of it, the sort of snow that cancels schools for days at a time, even in Virginia. He opens the door to the back seat, and tries to coax the dog inside. It's a struggle at first, but there's more food waiting from the groceries he's just purchased, so he opens a bag of crackers and tries his luck.

After a final moment of hesitation, the dog jumps in, munching happily on Paul's favorite snack. They're not cheap, and Jacob makes a silent apology to the night sky. Paul isn't going to be happy, will probably start a fight, in fact, but it wouldn't be their first. He drives the rest of the way home, the dog shivering and anxious in the back seat.

'It's ok, it's all right,' he attempts to soothe, and eventually it lies down against the soft interior, head resting against crossed paws.

He closes the garage door behind him after pulling in, and slowly opens the door to the back. Another offering of chips sees the dog out onto the concrete, and up to the door leading into the house. The dog shakes the water from its fur, soaking Jacob again, but this time he laughs. It's some breed of setter, he can tell from the snout and the tangles in its fur, and upon closer inspection, he realises it's a girl. Jacob steels himself for the coming tempest and opens the door, picking the dog up and carrying her gently up the stairs. She's heavy, and it's no easy task, but he manages.

Paul looks up from his laptop, and his eyes narrow. 'No,' he says firmly, taking in the sight. Jacob and the dog stand side by side, dripping wet in the doorway, both shivering miserably from the cold.

'I'll take her to a rescue tomorrow, I swear,' Jacob pleads, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. 'But it's cold out there, and the rain is supposed to turn to ice and if we get that snow -'

'We talked about this,' Paul interrupts, tossing the laptop aside and standing from his chair. 'There's no way we can keep a dog.'

'I just said -' Jacob began, 'And I don't believe you,' Paul speaks over him, before he can get too far. 'You get attached. If that thing isn't gone by the time I get home from work tomorrow,' he leaves off, the menace in his tone making the point perfectly clear.

'She will be,' Jacob answers, his chin tilting up. 'I just couldn't leave her out there overnight. She was starving, Paul, god only knows how long she's been wandering around like that.'

Paul's sigh reverberates through the kitchen. 'At least give it a bath, all right? You both reek.' He reaches for the cabinet above the refrigerator and grabs a bottle of scotch, pouring himself a large glass. He sets the bottle down on the counter with a thunk, one hand clenched into a fist at his side.

'Could you, um, maybe, watch her for a second?' Paul turns around with a glare and Jacob visibly wilts under its power. 'I left the groceries in the car, I'll just be a minute.' He soothes the dog with a pat to her head and she leans against his leg before turns to go back down the stairs. Paul closes his eyes and throws back his head in exasperation. Of course Jacob had brought home a stray. The dog, meanwhile, inches closer to where he stands, head tilted in confusion. She leans over to sniff his boots, and Paul takes a reflexive step back. She presses further, snuffling at his knees, and sits politely at his feet.

'You're disgusting,' he tells her. 'I hate dogs.' She whimpers, nudging his hand. 'Go away,' he says firmly, smacking her on the nose and she backs away with a plaintive whine.  _For fuck's sake_ , he thinks, and rolls the morning's paper into an ineffective weapon. She growls, low in her throat as he raises the cylinder, but her tail still wags with hopeful excitement, and he throw up his hands in exasperation. 'You're not staying here, you know,' Paul tells her firmly, smacking the paper against his hand for emphasis. 'We can't keep a dog. It wouldn't work.'

She jumps to her feet and hesitantly licks his boots before backing away several steps, tail still wagging determinedly. Paul sighs, and tosses the paper on the table. 'I will not be manipulated by a fucking canine reject,' he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. A rustle from across the room catches his attention and he looks up to see Jacob watching them, two sacks balanced in his arms.

'I heard that,' he accuses. 'She desn't care what you think, she likes you, anyway.'

'Dogs don't like me,' Paul reiterates slowly, as if Jacob were slow to catch on. 'They're stupid, and messy, and they'll only turn on you in the end. Besides, she just thinks I'm going to give her some food.'

'I don't know,' Jacob counters with a cheeky grin. 'She seems pretty smart to me.'

'Tomorrow,' Paul commands, pointing a finger squarely at Jacob and deliberately ignoring the setter prancing around his feet.

'Tomorrow,' Jacob agrees, his shoulders stubbornly straight.

'And clean the fucking tub when you're done washing it, I don't want dog hair clogging up the drain.' Paul takes his glass and heads sullenly upstairs.

 

Jacob sits the bag on the counter and pulls out a bag of beef jerky, something else Paul ate that he couldn't comprehend. He opens the bag and offers her tiny bites, one by one. He leads her upstairs, one snack at a time, and fills the tub with a low ring of warm water. Her tail wags as she sniffs her way around the bathroom, examining everything within reach. The water catches her attention, and she shies away, but Jacob manages to close the door and lift her into the water without much struggle. He slides shut the plastic shower door halfway and pulls down the shower head, turning it on as gently as he can. She sniffs at it and immediately sneezes as a rush of water catches her in the snout. He whispers soothing nonsense words as he slowly works a small amount of shower gel into her fur and washes it out. She shakes and whimpers, eventually laying her head against Jacob's shoulder as he scrubs the rest of the soap away.

'Dammit,' he mutters, realising for the first time exactly how big a mess he's caused. He strokes her head, wrapping his arms around her as she shivers.  _You get attached_ , Paul had said, hitting the nail on the head. Although Jacob supposed Paul wouldn't appreciate being compared to a stray dog, given but one night's clemency in their home.

He helps her out of the tub and reaches for a towel before she can shake herself dry all over the bathroom. She seems to like the feel of the material against her fur, and now that she's clean, Jacob can see her beautiful, mottled coat. Her fur is mostly white, with patches of brown and red, and her snout has a single white line that dips gracefully down to her chin.

'Who would have ever given you up?' he asks, wondering at her lack of collar and tags. He supposes there could be a family out looking for her right now, but from the way her ribs poke out from her sides, they probably gave up a long time ago. 'You're beautiful,' he tells her, picking her up and carrying her into the spare bedroom. He pulls a mound of towels from the linen closet and makes a bed for her on the floor. He figures joining Paul in their bedroom tonight would be pushing his luck, so he slips downstairs, pulls a fresh t-shirt and pair of sweats from the dryer, and returns to find her happily wallowing in the improvised bed. Jacob smiles, stripping out of his wet clothes and into the sweet relief of warm, dry fabric before settling down beside her. She licks his palm as he runs his fingers through her coat. He refuses to give her a name, not yet, not when tomorrow means hauling her back into the car and dropping her off at the kindest shelter Google can find.

He falls asleep cold under the thin blanket and the rough edge of a quilt they found at a flea market while pretending to collect heirlooms. No matter what Paul says, he still feels that he made the right decision. For one night, at least, they can play a different game of pretend. Just once, they can show a little kindness where no one else can see.

 

The morning brings a foot of heavy, wet snow and ice layered thick on all but the major roads. Jacob's classes are canceled for the day, but when he peeks his head into their bedroom, he finds it empty and the driveway shoveled. An hour later, Paul squeals into the garage, slamming the car door behind him and marching inside as if the world had dealt him a great injustice. Jacob sits in the living room with the dog, pleased at how many tricks she already knows and will happily perform at his command. Her tail wags furiously as Paul enters the room, but she approaches him with a cautious reserve.

'She's still here,' Paul states, glowering down at the beast occupying his living room.

'School was canceled,' Jacob replies with cheeky nonchalance. 'I'm not driving in that, even if you were dumb enough to try.'

'I didn't  _try_ ,' Paul snaps. 'I made it to the bank, but they were closed. The highways are fine, I don't understand why they'd cancel anything.'

'How many places have you lived?' Jacob asks, suddenly curious. 'I thought you were from Texas, man.'

'Florida,' Paul snaps. 'But I've been around enough to know how to drive a fucking car,' he gripes, still staring angrily down at the dog. She makes her way hesitantly across the rug to sniff and lick at the snow still clinging to his feet. He nudges her away, but she bounds right back, rubbing against his legs. He closes his eyes, breathing slowly out through his nose, arms crossed at his chest. 'I'd bet the pound is still open today,' he says, staring down at her as she lifts a single paw.

'See, she already knows how to shake!' Jacob exclaims, pointedly ignoring his comment. 'She can sit, and lie down, and I even got her to roll over once, though I think she really doesn't like stupid human tricks.' Paul stares her down, but she doesn't relent. She paws gently at his knee and he squats down, staring balefully at Jacob while he takes her paw in one hand and awkwardly moves it up and down. She lets out a soft bark of pleasure before jumping up to lick his face.

'Ugh,' Paul mutters, wiping the trail of saliva from his face. 'We are not keeping this dog,' he asserts, watching Jacob's face over the intruding creature's head.

Jacob looks away, breaking his gaze. 'I know. I know that, ok?'

'Good,' Paul answers angrily. 'Because if she stays? Then when Joe breaks out, either you're going to have to kill her, or I will.' Jacob stares at the floor, his eyes wandering across the checkered pattern of the rug. 'There's no room for spares in the plan, Jacob. You know that.'

'You don't think, maybe, Joey would like a dog?' Jacob asks, and it's the wrong thing to say, he knows it before the words are out of his mouth. He squeezes his eyes shut hard, turning toward the fireplace.

'What do you think Emma would say about loose ends, huh?' Paul presses, knowing the words will hurt. Jacob stands up without a word and walks into the kitchen, putting away the dry groceries he hadn't managed to fit into the cabinets last night. 'Don't ignore me,' Paul continues, following Jacob into the kitchen with a heavy tread against the floorboards. The dog trots happily behind him, sitting down on the floor squarely between them, content to be in the middle of everything.

'I'm not ignoring you,' Jacob throws back, his voice raised to nearly a shout, and the dog whimpers at his feet. 'I'll find her a home. With someone else. I will.' He looks up defiantly at Paul as the dog glances anxiously back and forth between them. 'Just not today.' Paul rests one hand against the counter, the other spread across his forehead.

'Fine,' he says bitterly. 'But this is on you.'

'Great,' Jacob replies. 'Fine. Now are you going to help me put these up, or have you decided I'm your fucking wife?' Paul drops his hand away from his eyes, his face falling into an expression of defeat that Jacob rarely has the privilege to witness.

'You're not my wife,' he mutters, moving to empty the bags into the pantry. He folds the brown paper sacks, jamming them under the counter with unnecessary force. 'I just need you to understand that there is no way for this to end well.'

'Funny, I thought that was the plan all along,' Jacob retorts, staring him down. Paul stops, mid-action, closing the pantry door behind him as an afterthought.

'It was,' he says, his back to the counter, hands splayed across the faux-granite surface. He looks at the dog, shifting in her seat, desperate for attention, and then back up. Jacob stands frozen, staring at him, a bag of pasta still clutched in his hands as the moment drags out. Jacob ends it, casting the bag aside to cross the tiles and wrap his arms around Paul's neck.

'I'm sorry,' he says, lips pressed against Paul's throat. Paul lowers his head until it touches Jacob's, his hands finding their way to Jacob's hips like a magnet seeks its mate.

'No,' Paul counters wearily, 'You're not sorry. Not one bit.' Jacob lifts his head, searching his face for something, anything that would let him know how to proceed. 'We talked about this. You agreed it was a bad idea, and you never brought it up again. I thought -' He bites down on the words, turning his head to the side. 'I thought you were with me in this. That I could  _count_  on you, for fuck's sake.' Something in his face shifts, his expression as inscrutable as a foreign language and Jacob would give anything to know what he's thinking.

'I didn't mean to disappoint you,' Jacob says softly, and Paul's hands slide slowly, lingeringly up his sides. He's silent for a long moment before an admission works its way out. 'You've never disappointed me,' Paul corrects him. 'Not once.'

'So what are you so angry about?' Jacob asks, covering Paul's hands on his chest with his own. Paul leans in, pressing his lips to Jacob's with a slow, calming touch. Jacob melts in his arms, returning the kiss with interest. 'Let's not talk about it,' Paul asks, a catch in his throat. 'Please, I need you to understand, but I can't -'

'It's all right,' Jacob murmurs between kisses. 'I don't want to fight.' Paul pulls away and kisses his forehead, his nose, his chin. 'Neither do I,' he admits with some reluctance. 'Take care of the damn dog, for now. We'll deal with it later, ok?' Jacob nods, relief shifting the lines of his body until his muscles ache from their former stiffness.

Paul turns to head upstairs and Jacob follows, the dog trotting happily along at their heels. He opens the guest room door and watches her settle happily into her pile of towels. Paul moves into their bedroom, shifting out of professional dress and into sweats and a t-shirt. Jacob's eyes track the motions, watch the muscles move and shift along his back and wonders why such a simple thing never fails to fascinate.

'Don't be an idiot,' Paul sighs when he turns around, one hand outstretched. 'It's a snow day. Come back to bed.'

 

The dog whines for a short while at being left behind, but neither of them notice above the rising sounds of their own. When it's quiet, after, Paul exhausted and spent, Jacob lies back, open and gasping, already missing the feel of Paul beneath his skin, of Paul inside of him, fitting like a missing piece. Jacob tosses and turns in the sheets, his mind anxious and conflictedwith his decision. Despite the physical comfort and bodily exertion, he's terrified of having crossed an unforgivable line. A pet isn't part of the plan. Another attachment will only make him question his own resolve, not for the first time, and he struggles to keep his thoughts from straying down that path. Paul wraps his arms around him, kissing the back of his neck before whispering, 'Go to sleep.' Eventually, warm and surrounded, Jacob does.

 

The dog seems complacent enough to stay anywhere Jacob moves her improvised bed, and he decides that leaving her in the laundry while they're at work is a decent enough solution. He lets her out into the yard once or twice, cautiously following behind to make sure she won't run. She stays by his side, prancing through the snow but faithful to a fault, and his heart sinks a bit, knowing he'll have to let her go. He stops by the store after work, having remembered Paul's ridiculous brand of espresso but forgetting his own, and on the way to the check-out he grabs a cheap nylon lead and bag of dog food. She'll have to eat something besides table scraps, he rationalizes, even if it's only for a few days, and a decent tether around her neck would ease his mind. He can't see shelling out the cash for a sturdy collar and leash, things he'd only have to give away or throw out once she's gone.

Sarah meets them on their first real walk around the neighborhood and kneels down, instantly charmed. 'What's her name?' she asks, delighted when the dog licks her cheek. 'Well,' Jacob fumbles, hands twisting around her lead. 'Paul doesn't really like dogs, and I just found her on the side of the road, so she's not – I mean, we can't keep her.' Sarah's face falls, watching Jacob try to hide his disappointment, so she scratches the dog behind the ears for good measure.

'It's a shame,' she says. 'I think you'd make excellent dog people,' and Jacob laughs. He knows with her schedule, Sarah can't keep a pet, not really, and she'd gone on at length once about her hatred of cleaning fish tanks. Sarah helps him make up posters and they hang them up around the neighborhood and a ways into the streets beyond. Jacob dutifully calls all the local shelters, just to check, but no one seems to remember her. He refuses to get his hopes up, but it's hard in the face of her constant companionship. He'd forgotten the way animals could give trust so easily, and show love without reservation.

 

Two weeks go by, the snow finally melts, and yet no one has called about a missing pet. Jacob watches her fill out on the sides, just a little day by day, and loves the extra time on long walks spent in quiet contemplation. On Friday evening, two weeks before Christmas, Paul comes home with a red collar and a sturdy leather leash. He places them in Jacob's hands with a moody expression, and the dog jumps up from the floor to greet him excitedly, all reaching paws and eager tongue. 'Take her to a shelter when the time comes,' he mutters, glancing down while Jacob stands up, stunned and speechless. 'Tell Sarah she's at the vet for a check-up, I don't care.' Paul sighs and runs a hand through his hair. 'She's your responsibility, don't expect me to take care of her. I still hate dogs.'

'Then why,' Jacob asks, the words little more than an exhalation as he struggles to find his voice.

'Because,' Paul says with a capitulant sigh, his breath ghosting across Jacob's forehead as he leans in to kiss the wrinkles between his eyebrows. 'She already acts like she owns the place, and Sarah bullied the hell out of me about it.' Jacob laughs and throws his arms around him and the dog reaches up, trying to wriggle between them. 'And because,' he pauses, scratching the back of his head, his lips pressing down hard around something as the moment stretches out into minutes.

'Because?' Jacob finally asks, pushing the dog down from her attempt to settle into his lap.

'Because I need to show you something,' Paul answers, finally, the words spilling out until they're barely intelligeable. Jacob raises his eyebrows, curious, and follows when Paul walks slowly over to his workstation and gestures impatiently over his shoulder.

Paul unlocks the fire safe at the bottom of the filing cabinet, pausing for a charged moment before finally keying open the door. He tosses aside a few folders of bill stubs and tax records before pulling out a thick green keeper holding multiple tabbed manila folders. He stares at it for a several seconds, nearly putting it back in its place before holding it out to Jacob without looking up. Jacob takes it with some hesitation, rustling through the contents in obvious confusion. He paces back to the couch, spreading the folders out across the coffee table.  He sits in perfect stillness once he realises what they contain.

'Paul,' he says, raising his head in disbelief. 'You can't. We, we can't, there's no way. Did you make all this?' Paul nods stiffly, still standing back, his expression uncertain. Jacob lowers his voice, his eyes glancing around the room, unable to settle. 'You really think we can get away?'

'Do you want to?' Paul asks, his voice shaky and from the look on his face, Jacob thinks he might be on the verge of sick.

'This is crazy, Paul, even for us,' Jacob says, standing up and crossing the floor. He puts his hands on Paul's arms, realizes that they're trembling slightly beneath his fingers and lets go, hands falling down to worry anxiously at the air. 'You're absolutely certain Charlie didn't bug this place?' he whispers, his own voice unsteady.

'I checked,' Paul assures him. 'Three times, at first, and I've checked about twenty times since.' Jacob nods, somehow not surprised. 'Besides,' Paul continues, shrugging his shoulders. 'Joe's too smart for that, he wouldn't wire this place without us knowing how to hide it when we go. The FBI will tear this place apart, they have entire tech units that would find it and trace it back. If they don't find Charlie, they'll find someone he bought it from, maybe Vince, or even Daniel. Joe wouldn't risk it.'

'You're sure?' Jacob asks again, his face drawn into sharp lines of intent. 'I'm certain,' Paul replies, holding his gaze and Jacob lets out a heavy breath. 'All this time,' he says, awed. 'All this time, I've been so fucking scared that I'd freeze and ruin everything, or that even if we pulled it off, we'd just get killed.' He shakes his head, astonished. 'I tried, Paul, I did, I tried to think about the future and where it would take us and what we'd become a part of, once we'd played our part. I thought about what you said to me that day, it just played over and over again in my head, but,' he stops, drawing in a shaky breath. 'I'm just not as strong as you are.'

Paul brings his hands up to Jacob's face, forcing him to look him straight in the eyes. 'You are the strongest person I know,' he says, clearly, the words lodging solidly in Jacob's chest. 'You're decent, and loyal, and I have never known anyone else like you in my life.' Jacob's face starts to crumple, his head shaking  _no_ , denying Paul's words, but his arms come up around Jacob, holding him until they both stop shaking. 

'You've been making all of this, right under my nose,' Jacob says against Paul's shoulder. He leans back for a deep breath, the air in his lungs only adding fuel to the fire kindling in his throat. 'Then when I came home with the dog you got so angry, and I thought you were mad at me for fucking up again,' he pauses, swallowing. 'For lacking commitment, for being weak -'

Paul presses his fingers to Jacob's lips, stopping the flood of panicked words. 'You didn't fuck up, Jacob.' He runs a fingertip along Jacob's bottom lip and Jacob's mouth falls open, the way it always does for Paul. 'I wasn't angry with you. I was terrified.' Jacob tilts his head, mouth open to question but Paul keeps speaking, as if he stopped now he might never be able to start again. 'You brought her home and all of a sudden, I could see it. You and me, somewhere far away from here. Away from Joe, from Emma, all the rest of those cowards hiding behind their tiny god.' He scoffs, shoulders sagging. 'Away from this bullshit game that's going to pull us down so far we'll never make it back. And a year ago I didn't care, I just wanted to go out with a bang, to be a name no one would ever forget, but -' A crinkling noise catches his attention, and he steps back from Jacob's embrace to pull a clutch of paper from the dog's mouth, the paper trail giving proof to their false life now covered in salive. 'But after all this,' he says slowly, his back still turned, as if pulling each word up from a deep and buried reserve. 'I realized I didn't want to play someone else's game anymore. I just wanted you.' He keeps his head down, staring at the crumpled mess of pages in his hand. His shoulders fall, his back curving in like a puppet whose strings had finally been cut.

'I didn't know, Paul,' Jacob says, his voice cracked and shaking. 'I never knew.' He reaches out a hand and pulls it back, fingers tightening into a loose fist.

'Now you do,' Paul replies, turning his attention back to Jacob. 'It's in your hands,' he admits. 'I can't - I _have_ to leave this up to you.'

'Paul,' he breathes and the name falls from Jacob's lips like a hushed prayer.

'If you need time to think about it,' Paul offers, starting to turn away again, but Jacob cuts him off. 'No,' he says, the words solid and steady on his tongue. Paul's brow winkles with fear, but Jacob finds the strength in his hands to clasp Paul's face between his palms. 'I mean, no, I don't need time. I'm with you, I'm ready when you are.' Paul's shoulders rise, the muscles beneath finally winning the battle with gravity and the threat of humilitation, and his lips turn up in a cautious smile.

'God, Paul,' Jacob wonders, and he's smiling, mouth open wide. 'You think we could make it, don't you? You really think we can get out from under this.'

'I think I can make it work,' Paul replies hesitantly, resting his hand behind Jacob's neck. 'I can get us backgrounds that will check and I can fake resumes and letters of recommendation in my sleep.' He takes in a slow breath and closes his eyes. 'I never gave Joe everything; I couldn't. I know people that Charlie's never heard of, people the cops in El Paso and New Orleans never linked back to me. They're safe, and if they're not, I'll know, and I'll find someone else to do the rest.'

Jacob nods slowly, his eyes widening as he registers the possibilities. Paul opens his eyes again, searching Jacob's face for approval. 'Seattle's close enough to the border that if we get the slightest hint they're onto us, we can be in Vancouver in two and a half hours, tops. From there we could go anywhere. If Seattle's too big,' Paul continues, his tone rushed and rambling, 'there's a smaller town called Bellingham just up the highway, and you can be a teacher anywhere if you want to.' Jacob cuts off his next sentence with a forceful kiss, pushing him back a step and grabbing him by the shirt to feel every inch of Paul's body against his. Paul's head hits the back of the wall and he laughs, rubbing the back of his skull. Jacob winces and takes a hasty step back.

'Sorry about that,' he says, shyly. 'If you ever apologize for kissing me again,' Paul threatens with a smile, 'I'll sell that dog to a Chinese restaurant for meat.'

'Our dog,' Jacob corrects him, lifting his head defiantly. 'If we're leaving, we're keeping her.' Paul sighs, knowing when he's beaten. 'Yeah, ok, fine. I think I lost that battle about a week ago.' Jacob grins, kissing him again, slow and hesitant this time, as if it were a new idea he had just discovered.

'You know if we leave, we'll always be looking over our shoulders,' Jacob says, pulling a hair's breadth away from Paul's lips. 'I know,' Paul answers, doubt clouding his face. 'But think about how many people travel at the holidays. If we're gone fast enough and cover our tracks, Joe will just put someone else in our place. He won't have time to change his plan, won't have the resources to look for us until we're so far off the grid not even the fucking CIA could hunt us down.'

'And you really think we can do this?' Jacob asks again, heady with the idea of it and still in shock that Paul's even been thinking about it, working on it, for what must have been quite some time. 'No,' Paul answers honestly this time, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. 'But I think it's worth taking the chance.' Jacob takes his hands and squeezes them, his thumbs running across the backs of his fingers. Paul's mouth twists, holding back entire worlds he doesn't have the vocabulary to articulate.

'Look, Jacob,' he blurts out, finally. 'You've never actually done anything wrong.' Jacob shakes his head, knowing where Paul's words are leading. 'You could leave without me,' Paul admits, pulling his hands away. 'I'm never going to change who I am, what I have to do. You need to understand that.'

'I do,' Jacob argues, his voice pitched low and fierce, but Paul rushes on, undeterred. 'You could get out of this clean and never look back. I don't have to drag you down with me.' He turns away, shoulders squared, pacing towards the counter. 'I'll make all the arrangements you need, if that's what you decide.'

'No,' Jacob says, decisively, following close behind.

'I could tell Sarah we'd been fighting, that you moved back to stay with your parents for a while, I could keep up the ruse -'

'No.' Jacob interrupts him, one hand gripping Paul's shoulder hard enough to bruise. 'If I go, you go. That's the deal.'

'And what about Sarah?' Paul asks, a flash of real fear in his eyes when he turns to look back at Jacob.

'We could find a way to warn her,' Jacob answers slowly after a moment's hesitation. 'If we all disappear, it would hit Joe's radar, but if she knew, she could be careful. She could get away, and it wouldn't have to lead back to us.'

There's a hopefulness in the lines of Jacob's face, in his eyes, and Paul's neck tightens in response. He steadies himself against the counter and licks his lips. 'What would Sarah think when we told her?' Paul asks quietly. 'If she found out Joe Carroll sent us here in the first place?' Paul's logic is sound, and Jacob knows where Sarah keeps her gun. She's never had to fire it in self-defense, but she'd taken lessons and become an excellent shot. He'd gone to the range with her one day, played at being hopeless while she corrected his stance and steadied his aim.

'You see now?' Paul asks, and the finality of it hits Jacob in the chest like the bullet he imagines. 'If we bail, that's one thing, but if we fuck Joe's plan from the very beginning? God,' he hisses through clenched teeth. 'If Sarah escapes, he'll know it was us. Not the FBI, not Ryan fucking Hardy, but  _us_ , Jacob. Hell, if you tell Sarah she's in danger, she'll go to the feds and Joe will never even make it out of prison. Do you really want his execution on your scorecard?' Jacob shakes his head miserably.

Meeting Joe had been a revelation, their conversations and coercions carefully curated to provoke exactly the response in Jacob that Joe wanted. He saw that now, but Joe had also given him Emma and Paul. He'd pulled them all in, seduced them with the game, and now his very existence threatened to drag every one of his followers six feet under. Despite the danger, he still couldn't think about Joe dying in prison, strapped to some table in front of a window, passive and resigned. He didn't deserve to go out that way anymore than Jacob deserved a bullet to the back of his head.

'He will search every city and no-name little town in this country,' Paul continues on, oblivious to Jacob's train of thought. 'He knows hundreds of people on the outside, people that would do anything for him.' Paul tilts his head down, forcing Jacob to meet his eyes. 'People like us.' Jacob covers his face in his hands and leans his side against the cool stone counter top. 'Vince has his own fucking legion,' Paul reminds him, his hands moving to Jacob's arms. 'Roderick knows every fugitive from Chicago to Saint Louis and half the eastern seaboard's in his back pocket already. How are we supposed to escape that kind of net?'

Jacob straightens up, running his fingers through Paul's hair. He leans into the touch, following it like a cat craving attention. 'I hear Morocco's nice this time of year,' Jacob says softly against his neck and Paul can feel the sarcastic half-smile on his lips. 'So's Andorra, or maybe Brunei, if you'd prefer an island.' Paul blinks, then shakes his head and laughs. 'You know off-hand how many countries refuse extradition to the States?'

'I'm a teacher,' Jacob replies slyly. 'It's my duty to impart knowledge about the great wide world.' He makes a sweeping gesture, hands spread out wide, and Paul's face contracts with familiar exasperation. Jacob presses on, regardless. 'We can't count on Canada, especially with the kind of pressure the FBI will have on its side. But Vancouver International could get us to London in a day, and London will  _definitely_  get us to Marrakesh.'

'Coastal weather and nude beaches notwithstanding,' Paul argues, tipping his head back. 'Neither of us is fluent in Arabic.'

'Oui, mais je parle très bien français.' Jacob contends, reveling in the look of surprise the words provoke from Paul. 'I could teach you,' he says with a hesitant smile. 'I took Latin in pre-med, and trust me, once you know the basics, all Romance languages are just inbred cousins. Or hell,' he adds, grinning, 'just use Spanglish, they'll figure out what you mean. Eventually.'

'¿Oh, ahora el pequeño genio quiere burlarse de mi?' Paul smirks, rolling the words across his tongue and watching Jacob's pupils dialate slowly at the sound. The corner of Jacob's mouth curls down in contemplation as he opens and closes his mouth.

'Ok, I give,' Jacob laughs, throwing up his hands. 'Either you just called me a tiny genius or you want to beat me up.'

'Close enough,' Paul answers, prowling around Jacob until he has him pinned back against the counter. 'Sólo quiero guardarte,' he whispers against Jacob's ear, and that, oh Jacob understands that one just fine. Paul kisses his neck, pulling him in fierce and protective. Jacob would be happy to linger in that space, warm and safe, but Paul's mouth pulls away from his skin. 'We have to agree on one simple thing,' Paul says in a tone that brooks no argument. He kisses his way up Jacob's jawline, pressing their hips together and making Jacob moan under his breath. 'You cannot tell her.'

Jacob curls in on himself, pulling away from of Paul's embrace. 'I understand that Paul, I do,' he says with a shuddering breath. 'But that doesn't mean I don't hate it. We're her only friends,' he adds, the strength already draining from his voice. 'I can't tell her it was all a con. I won't.' He shakes his head in defeat, hoping that the admission is enough for Paul.

'It's her or us,' Paul reminds him, his gaze straightforward and deadly serious. 'I need to know you're with me.'

'Of course I am,' Jacob gestures helplessly. 'This is just, it's a lot to take in. I need to get my head straight, all right?' Paul nods, and kneels down where the dog has planted herself, staring up at them in quiet confusion. He carefully slips the collar around her neck, and she shakes her head, unused to the sensation. He clicks the leash into place and stands up while she prances happily about his feet.

'I'm going to take her out for a nice long walk,' he says. 'You sort out what you need to.' Jacob nods, and sinks down to the kitchen floor, his arms around his knees. He hears the door shut behind Paul with a quiet click, and lets his resolve crumble, the tears he's held back slipping silently down his face. Jacob thought he'd long moved past this particular patch of turbulence, but then the trap door had opened up beneath his feet. It doesn't seem fair that they get out of this alive at the cost of Sarah's death. He doesn't know how long he sits there, muddled in a mess of confusion and obligation and remorse before his eyes finally clear.

 

His parents won't look for him, he knows that as surely as he remembers the day his father cast him out. He loves his mother, but he can't forgive her for standing silent behind him, lines of judgment etched deep into her face. He will never be anything but a disappointment to them, an embarrassing failure to Joe and the others, but with Paul? He can be anything he wants, _do_ anything he wants, and they can go anywhere they'd like to see it happen.

Jacob throws water on his face from the sink and wipes it clean before walking back to the living room. He stares down at the neatly organized piles of documents, finding among them credit cards in various names, social security cards, and birth certificates. Jacob can't help but be amused that Paul's decided he was born in Summerlin, Nevada. He finds a Bachelor's Degree in Education and English Literature from Berkeley in the name of one Jacob Eliot Barnes, dated May, 2010. Apparently, he thinks, Jacob Barnes is an overachiever. A paper mock up of a driver's license issued from the state of Washington lies beneath it, with an impressively awful mug shot plastered to the front. He didn't know when Paul had managed to snap that picture, but it was every bit as terrible as an authentic license photograph. Every document, real as life, or ready to be, and impossibly in his hands.

Another folder contains a diploma from San Francisco State in Computer Science, made out to Paul Moreno Alvarez, along with several continuing education certificates in CCNT, CCNA Security and about ten more acronyms he can't decipher. Paul's driver's license is incomplete without a photograph, and Jacob stares at the blank, rectangular patch for what seems like a lifetime. He can picture Paul's face there, bored and belligerent, tired of waiting for hours in a line, probably imagining the numerous ways he could dispatch each employee in the room before the terrified onlookers stampeded towards the door. Jacob can see the blood on the walls, arterial spray obscuring outdated computer screens and splashing across the ceiling. He can imagine the look of satisfaction on Paul's face as he glances up to make sure Jacob was watching. The crowd would trample anyone in their way, like a herd of deer fleeing a wolf and God help him if that image didn't make him smile.

 _'You could get out of this clean,'_  Paul had said, but that was a lie.

 

The dog races in ahead of Paul as soon as he opens the door, panting from exertion. Paul hangs his jacket beside the door and reaches down to detach her leash, his eyes fixed on the carpet. Jacob sits on the couch, the binder on his lap, folders neatly arranged inside. 'Two years in this neighborhood,' Paul starts in, two fingers pointing at nothing in exasperation. 'Two years, and not a single one of those pretentious assholes can be bothered to remember our names. But the minute I step outside with your dog, every jogger and soccer mom and stupid little kid just  _has_ to stop and pet her and ask her name.'

'What did you tell them?' Jacob asks, glancing up with amusement.

'I told them you decided to call her Princess,' Paul answers with a mean smirk and Jacob frowns back playfully. 'Those idiots out there, just cooing and fussing over her like she was the highlight of their entire fucking day.'

'Maybe she was,' Jacob says with a noncomittal shrug. 'They're just insects, Paul, stuck in their little prefab hives. Punching the clock, letting the news tell them what they should think before going back to sleep and starting all over again. Never doing a damn thing to leave a mark of their own on the world.' The dog bounds across the rug to Jacob when Paul lets her go, resting her head on his knee. He scratches behind her ears and looks up at Paul with singular focus. Jacob can see him register the change in his face, watches his eyes narrow as his head tilts ever so slightly to one side.

'And you want to leave a mark?' Paul questions, his back still resting against the door. Jacob nods, a great and terrible fire in his eyes that Paul hasn't seen since their days huddled in Emma's attic. 'I want to leave a scar,' he contends, his voice pitched low and almost vicious. Paul's eyes darken and he takes an expectant step forward. 'But like you said, not in someone else's name,' Jacob clarifies. 'I'm tired of being a gear in the machine, just replaced or pitched out when one part breaks. When our chapter ran its course, what did you think was going to happen to us?' He leans forward, anticipating Paul's answer.

'Honestly?' Paul asks, slowly crossing the floor. His hands slip down to his pockets, thumbs sticking out in a familiar confidant stance. 'I didn't let myself think about it.'

'Why?' Jacob asks, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from Paul's mouth, needing to feel those words written into his skin.

'Because the minute we gave Sarah to Joe, I knew it would all be over.' Paul glances around the room, his mouth tight with frustration. 'I thought we'd get the kid, and you'd go back to Emma and I'd be left with nothing again. I'd  _be nothing.'_   His jaw clenches with long buried resentment. _''_ I would have survived all of this just to end up with a bullet in my head and maybe, if I was really lucky, my name in the paper.' Paul keeps a careful distance from where Jacob perches on the couch, coiled as if ready to spring. His hands clutch at the folder in his lap, snapping the army green rubber band against it until it leaves a dent.

'Survived this?' Jacob questions, his voice neutral and strangely calm. Paul's hands slide out from his pockets, twitching uselessly at his sides while his eyes roam the room.

'I didn't want to do this,' he spits out, lips white with anger. 'Because I knew I'd probably be spending three years or more in a special circle of hell for my trouble. I only agreed to be a part of this charade because because it was what Joe wanted, because _I needed_ to be a part of something bigger.' His voice rises in volume as he continues, his steps across the floor echoing with intent. 'I was so tired of being invisible,' Paul confesses, his hands tucked back into his belt loops. 'I've killed, and I've enjoyed it, and no one has ever known what I was capable of -' he stops, letting out a ragged breath. 'Not until you. You stood back and you watched me enjoy it, saw the blood on my face and my hands and -' he pauses, a catch in his throat. 'You turned away, Jacob.' He shrugs, helplessly. 'The only person I'd ever trusted like that, and you couldn't stand the sight of me.' Paul's voice wavers, his lips pressed in a thin, hard line and Jacob opens his mouth to speak. Paul raises one hand, the look on his face forcing Jacob's mouth swiftly shut. 'Joe told me that I could be feared and admired,' Paul explains, one fist clutched to his chest. 'And I fell for it.'

'We all did,' Jacob attests, wanting to do more, wanting to close the distance and pull Paul into his arms, but knowing he would only find a statue, unmoved by the gesture. 'And yes, you scared the shit out of me that night,' he admits. 'Because I wasn't ready. That's all.' He shifts on the couch, searching for the right words and wondering if they even exist. 'But then, back in the car, you were - you were the Paul I knew, and you let me fall apart.' Jacob's voice breaks slightly around the words and he looks up, slightly overwhelmed. 'You understood, and you never said a _word_ to the rest of them. If you think that didn't matter to me, doesn't  _still_ matter to me, then you're wrong.'

'I tried not to think about it,' Paul replies with a pained smile, shrugging his shoulders. 'I followed the plan, and I never let myself think further than the next day out, the next meeting, the next project due. It was all just a means to an end.' He licks his lips and when the sardonic smile falls away, the fight gradually leaves his body, inch by inch. It made it easier.' His voice lowers to barely above a whisper, and Jacob strains to hear. 'It was safer, I thought, for both of us, if I just ignored everything else.' Paul lifts his gaze to the ceiling, and Jacob reads everything he doesn't say in the slant of his shoulders, the way one foot kicks the edge of the rug back and forth.

'What if we write our own chapter,' Jacob says, quietly, almost to himself. Paul looks down and moves closer, as if given permission. He kneels at Jacob's feet, resting his arm on the couch beside him. 'I'm not much of a writer,' he confesses, a sharp edge of fear behind the words, and Jacob leans down to kiss him. The contrast between the heat of Paul's skin and the delicate, light brushes of Paul's tongue against his mouth nearly drive Jacob wild. Beneath the rush of blood he can hear Paul's heart, pounding fit to break his ribs and escape his chest. 'You're bound to be better than Joe,' he jokes breathlessly, and Paul lets out a startled laugh.

'You can put the deed to this place in Maggie's name, right?' Jacob asks, his tone serious as he reluctantly pulls away. 'Take me about five minutes,' Paul murmurs, as if already missing the taste of him. 'You think Joe will pick her to replace us?'

'We'd practically be leaving him a road map,' Jacob answers dismissively. 'Whatever else they think of us, they'll know we trusted in the plan.' Paul nods, considering. 'Besides,' Jacob continues, a hint of smugness creeping into his tone, 'Maggie plays possum like a competitive sport. Sarah will trust a woman on the run from an abusive husband.' He laughs over the last few words, remembering the night Rick had nearly killed his wife by accident. 'God, but that girl was a bleeder,' Jacob muses, and Paul watches him with growing interest.

'Emma never got the stains out of that carpet,' Paul adds, remembering her frustrated, fruitless attempts. 'Hey,' Jacob suggests, 'maybe she and Sarah can compare scars sometime.' A cunning smile settles into place on his lips and looks perfectly at home there.

Paul looks up at the change in Jacob with undisguised fascination, knowing now that it had been there all along, just waiting to be unearthed. 'What about our jobs?' he asks. 'Our lives here?' He wonders if Jacob's thoughts would mirror his carefully constructed fantasy, their minds in sync towards a unified goal. An eager intensity colors his tone that Jacob isn't used to hearing outside of the bedroom, and he strokes Paul's arm where it's come to rest on his knee.

'I'll tell Sarah your dad's really sick, and we're going out to stay with him.' Jacob explains simply. 'Tell her our old friend Maggie needs a place to stay, so we're letting her house-sit for a while. We tell the school and the bank the same thing,' Jacob continues, the hastily formed plan unwinding as if it had been simmering beneath the surface for years. 'We'll each take a leave of absence; they won't know we're really gone for at least a few weeks. We'll pay the utility bills out for the next month at least, as if we expect to be back soon.'

'And if any of Joe's little admirers come looking for us?' Paul asks, his voice calm and steady, as if  _this_  was the plan they'd rehearsed a hundred times. 'My dad's dead, Jacob, he died in Iraq before I had the chance to do it myself.'

'Does anyone know?' Jacob asks. 'Anyone in the group, I mean. Billy Thomas' father is alive and well in South Dakota.'

'Billy's father is  _invented_ , Jacob,' Paul reminds him. 'Though they could find out about mine easily enough, I guess,' he continues, 'I'm sure his name's on some goddamned list. Lived in Homestead back then, he shipped out of Mayport in Jackson. Came back in a box.' He stares at the hearth, watches the last embers of a slow-burning fire wink out one by one.

'And your mom?' Jacob asks, wondering why he'd never thought to ask before now. It was strange to discover what did and didn't matter when you knew your life could end at any moment. 'God only knows,' Paul answers, disgust plain in his voice. 'Maybe she's still living in that shitty double-wide in Florida, maybe she shacked up again and moved somewhere else. Maybe her veins dried up and the smack finally killed her.' He forces out a breath between closed lips. 'I haven't seen her since the funeral. She tried to give me the flag, and I told her to keep it. I would have only burned it, anyway.'

'You think they'll find her?' Jacob asks again, more to the point. His fingers close around Paul's wrist, and Paul covers them with a second hand. 'Maybe,' he shrugs, wrinkling his nose. 'Between Charlie and Aaron, they could probably track her down. But she won't know anything, probably won't even know what day of the week it is, and I'm sure as hell not going to lose any sleep over it.' He pauses, a breath stagnating in his throat. 'My mother taught me two things,' he says quietly. 'How to say the rosary, and how to stand up after a beating and say 'Yes sir, muchas gracias,' like I was  _grateful_.' He spits out the last word, and Jacob nods, feeling the rage burning across Paul's skin.

'Then what are we waiting for?' Jacob asks. The dog nudges at his knees, whimpering for attention, and Paul pulls one hand away to ruffle the fur on her back. The action calms him, soothes the rage building in his veins. He breathes in and out, feeling her heart beat steadily below the heavy coat of fur. 'There's just one last thing, I think,' he replies calmly, turning the dog's face up towards Jacob. 'Because I swear, if you actually call her Princess, I'll strangle you in your sleep.'

'Don't have to wait 'til I'm asleep,' Jacob says with a sly grin, and Paul's pupils widen, his blood visibly stirring at the thought.

Jacob's cheeks turn a faint shade of pink at an admission that had never before left the bedroom, and he glances down. He watches the dog with a fierce, possessive rush that nearly resembled fondness. 'Well, you already nicknamed her Princess. Might as well keep up the schtick and call her Grace.'

Paul laughs, stroking Jacob's thigh. 'I think that's the gayest thing you've ever said,' he manages between breaths, and looks grateful when Jacob doesn't counter with the usual, stock response.

'My grandmother loved Grace Kelly,' Jacob answers instead, still flushed and embarrassed. 'I think I always did, too. I hate my fucking family, but she was all right, you know?' Paul nods, as if he understands.

'She was the first person I ever watched die,' Jacob says slowly. 'They told me later it was an aneurysm, just a blood vessel exploding in her brain. I was nine, and she was shaking and I just stood there.' Paul's fingers stop their movement against Jacob's leg. 'I tried to clean up the mess, but her hands were waxy and cold and her eyes just glazed over like some special effect on TV.' Paul squeezes his leg hard, watching Jacob's lips open and close. 'I don't think my mother ever forgave me for that.'

'It wasn't your fault,' Paul retorts, leaning his head in closer. 'People can walk around with ticking time bombs in their heads for half their lives and not even know it.'

'I didn't try to help her,' Jacob presses on. 'I just watched.' Paul slides his hand up Jacob's thigh, reaches out to touch his face in misguided sympathy, but Jacob ducks away. 'I was fascinated, Paul. That's what I'm trying to tell you. I didn't help her because I wanted to see what would  _happen_.' Paul nods, a wary sort of understanding dawning across his face.

'I don't know if I can ever be like you,' Jacob tells him, turning to catch Paul's gaze and hold it. 'But I've done my homework. Did it long before I ever met Joe, and you'd better believe I've sharpened my game since then.' His words punched through the silence like notes plucked from a catgut string. 'I'm not scared anymore. I know my way around the aftermath and I can help you, if you'll let me.'

Paul brushes his fingers down Jacob's face with the lightest touch he can manage, stunned into wordless gestures. The sounds in his mouth becomes syllables, become words as he finally manages to push them past his lips. 'You would do that. For me.' It come out as a statement instead of the question he intended, and when Jacob nods, he has to look away. Paul buries his head in Jacob's lap, lets Jacob's hands slide across his shoulders and down his back as the acceptance sinks down into his bones. They stay there, unmoving, until the dog nudges Paul's shoulder and he lifts his head, sucking a deep, wet breath down into his lungs.

He reaches out a hand to lets the dog lick his palm, fastidiously cleaning every finger. 'I think Grace suits her,' Paul says numbly, his lips gradually turning up in a wry half-smile. 'You know, since Emma's taken.'

Jacob's laugh gets stuck in his throat. 'You're a real ass, you know that?' he throws back. Paul turns his head back and grins. 'You like me that way, remember?' he teases, and Jacob smiles. It's a shade more superior than endearing, and Paul wouldn't have it any other way.

Jacob stands up, the binder tucked securely under his left arm, and glances around the room at the the cheap Ikea furniture, the shitty modern art, the (mostly) staged photographs. The lamp Sarah bought them to match the couch, the fake degrees above Paul's desk. He extends his right hand down towards Paul, and he takes it, rising to his feet.

'No more waiting,' Jacob says, and Paul kisses him hard on the forehead, pressing Jacob's hand to his chest. It will be a simple matter to shred and burn the remnants of their former lives as planned, but now a small thing absolved from meaning. Grace indeed, Jacob thinks, pulling the mess of chewed up documents from the table. He strikes a match and pitches the lot into the fire without once looking back. 

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to t12acks for correcting my Spanish! I don't speak the language myself, and the assistance was greatly appreciated.
> 
> This was unbeta'd, so all the mistakes you might find are my own. I just felt like the Paul/Jacob fandom could really use a little help tonight, and I love all of you dearly, so I did my best. The rest of the chapters continue in a direct line from this version of events, if you'd like to read more.


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